


Melting

by rileywrites



Category: Robin Hood (2018)
Genre: Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slice of Life, if you want it to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 14:24:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16812439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rileywrites/pseuds/rileywrites
Summary: The boy thrives on praise.Yahya observed this from that first long day of training, the first time he says "good" after hours of taunting his skills.Robin's flush of exhaustion turns into a flush of triumph, somehow reddening further. The English are so easy to read thanks to their pale skin.That last round of shots flies truer than any that came before.





	Melting

The boy thrives on praise.

Yahya observed this from that first long day of training, the first time he says "good" after hours of taunting his skills.

Robin's flush of exhaustion turns into a flush of triumph, somehow reddening further. The English are so easy to read thanks to their pale skin.

"Once more, then time for dinner and bed."

That last round of shots flies truer than any that came before. Yahya makes a note, but says nothing.

"To bed with you, now. We've got a long day ahead of us in the morning." Yahya nods to the hammocks they rigged up their first night, untrusting of bedding that hasn't been touched in two years. 

"Long day, right." Robin smiles, a little sliver of a thing that warms part of Yahya he thought long cold. "Night, John."

"Good night, English."

If Yahya falls asleep thinking of red-stained cheeks and a tiny smile, it is between him and his eyelids.

…

Yahya uses his newfound knowledge carefully. It will not do to spoil the boy. He got enough of that in his youth.

However, a well-placed "good job" or "well done" or, later, "beautiful" motivates Robin to do ten more reps, to shoot ten more arrows, to do that last difficult lap around the courtyard. 

And if Yahya's frozen soul melts a little every time Robin shoots him that excited smile, well… he's old and broken, not dead.

Robin grows impatient despite the praise, chomping at the bit to finally use his new skills.

As his body adjusts to the work Yahya gives him, his exhaustion no longer wins out over his trauma.

...

Three weeks after their ship docked, Yahya wakes to Robin crying out in the night, faced with demons he can't be rid of.

Yahya slides out of his hammock and goes to Robin's pallet on the floor in front of the fire.

"Wake, English. It is a dream."

Robin yells again. This time, he forms a word.

"Run!"

Carefully, aware of how dangerous it can be to wake a veteran of war, Yahya shakes Robin's shoulder.

"Wake, boy. You are safe. No need to run."

Robin startles awake, bleary and hyperaware all at once. He goes to strike Yahya, but he relaxes at the last moment.

"John. Oh, John, thank fuck." Robin clutches his hand. "I thought I was…"

The tear-tracks on his cheeks glisten in the firelight.

"You are not. You are here, in Loxley Manor, with me." Yahya guides him back down. "You are safe."

Robin settles, his pulse slowing as his eyes start to drift. Yahya attempts to release his hand from Robin's grip, but Robin doesn't let go.

"Stay?" He asks, the firelight and sleepiness making him look more like a true child than Yahya has ever seen him. "Please?"

"I will."

Yahya lays on his side beside Robin, and Robin adjusts his blankets to cover them both. It is reassuring to curl so close together. Yahya is not yet used to the cold of the British Isles, and the heat of the fire combined with the warmth of Robin's body makes him feel warm for the first time since he got on that ship.

"It was Saheed again, and Clayton, all at once," Robin says, long moments later. "Both with their head on the block."

Yahya slides just a little closer, allowing Robin to seek his touch.

"You are a good man, Robin of Loxley. You tried to save them both, and that is what matters." Yahya squeezes his hand. "You did as well as you could, and you are a good man."

Robin's cheek flush, and he snuggles closer to Yahya's chest.

"Thank you," he whispers. "For everything."

…

When they dig "Loxely, Lord of the Manor" out of the mental mothballs Robin has been keeping him in, praise and comfort become more vital.

After every meeting with the Sheriff, Robin ends up in a pit of self-loathing and despair that breaks Yahya's heart to witness.

So when Robin is forced to spend time with the barnacle-made-human these people call a sheriff, Yahya pays particular attention to how they spend the rest of their day.

Robin takes out his anger on the paintings in the attic, and then yokes himself willingly to drag chains around the yard. Yahya lets him work out his anger until he's calmer, before jumping down from his perch. 

"You have done well, English." Yahya guides him to put the yoke down and come inside with a hand on Robin's shoulder. "You play the part, yet you remain pure of intention. Do not punish yourself for this charade."

He guides a worn-out Robin into the kitchen and dishes the stew he's been working on. Once he's eaten his fill, Robin speaks for the first time since they left town.

"I hate it. I hate playing the smarmy nobleman, hate licking the sheriff's boots, hate the way I have to talk to people or about people, hate having to treat you like a servant in public."

It's the most logical role for Yahya to take, the Moorish manservant that Robin picked up abroad, but it chafes at both of them.

Yahya sits beside Robin and squeezes his shoulder.

"I know, Robin. I'm proud of how consistent you are with your façade, with the mask of slimy nobility you wear. Remember, this is not forever. We have a goal."

Robin perks up at that, that same wavery smile on his lips. "Proud?"

"Proud." Yahya smiles, which is becoming less rare when around the young Lord-- or, rather, around Robin. "Now, eat. I cannot have you growing thin when we have work to do."

"You'd never let me get weak. You're too harsh a tutor."

"Harsh? I prefer strict. No need to be harsh with such a willing, capable pupil."

That same flush is back, and another piece of frozen soul melts.

Yahya missed feeling human. Feeling alive.

…

Broken and bleeding in Nottingham's dungeons, Yahya holds on to two things.

Finally getting justice for his son.

Getting a chance to see that happy little grin on Robin's face again.

He just has to get out first.

It's the only thought in his mind when he smashes the bowl and prepares to escape.

For Saheed, and for Robin. 

**Author's Note:**

> We're a baby fandom, for which, as of this writing, _I_ have written half of the completed fics. Reach out! If you have ideas, write them. If you have prompts, send them. reactingcaptain on tumblr.
> 
> Also, they are credited as "Little John" and "Teenage Moor" on IMDB, so I'm going by the Wikipedia for the spelling of Yahya's true name, and some strategic googling/guessing for Saheed's.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lips Sealed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16910796) by [J_L_R](https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_L_R/pseuds/J_L_R)




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